A Table for Two
by MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Dark Castle Rumbelle: You did all of this for me?


A/N: Dark Castle with a little oblivious Prince Charming for fun.

Belle sniffed the roasted boar and blistered, buttered potatoes with satisfaction. A peach tart, thick with crumb topping cooled on the stone windowsill. Rumplestiltskin was due to return any moment, and her only remaining task before dinner was to toss some greens together for a salad. Her master turned his nose up at any vegetables that weren't potatoes, but Belle offered them anyway; they rounded out the meal and offered a little color.

Last week, Rumplestiltskin—the fearsome Dark One—had built a tower library and gifted it to her, Belle French, the maid he'd purchased in a deal. The least she could do in return was deliver a delicious (and uncharred!) meal to his dining room table.

The scrape of wood against stone echoed from the massive foyer, and Belle's heels skidded on the marble floor as she raced to toward the enormous double doors to greet her master. "Welcome home, Rumplestiltskin." Belle smiled and moved to take off his elegant, feathered cloak.

"Yes, yes," he said absently, shrugging off the cloak and waving away her attentions.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, searching his deep amber eyes.

Someone coughed and Belle shifted her gaze in the direction of the sound, her smile faltering. Prince David was standing in the doorway behind Rumplestiltskin, and Belle bit back a frustrated sigh. She should have known the Dark Castle had a visitor, or else her master would have simply 'poofed' into the center of the Great Hall with his trademark dramatic flourish.

David nodded and smiled warmly. "I have business with the Dark One."

Annoyed, Belle crossed her arms and glared at the prince. There was no way in this or any realm she was serving Rumplestiltskin's special dinner to this interloper. Ordinarily, she had nothing against David, and as the maid of this castle for six months, she'd had occasion to entertain everyone from the Mad Hatter to the Evil Queen. Tonight, however, the table would be set for two.

"I suppose you'll both want tea," she said sharply, then stomped back to the kitchens muttering about spoiled plans and unwelcome guests as she went.

xoxo

Bearing the tea service between clenched fists, Belle pressed her lips together and entered into the hall. The two gentlemen were settled in wingback chairs by the fire, deep in discussion. Glowering at her master, Belle practically tossed the tray on the table. Hot tea sloshed onto David's hand. "Oh, sorry," she murmured, tossing him a clean towel. She refilled his cup and set it on the side table with a thump.

She wasn't sure what made her more incensed; the fact that David was here at all, or that her usually perceptive master hadn't picked up on her ire.

"You might have told me we had a guest," she hissed through gritted teeth as she added three lumps of sugar to his favorite chipped cup. She stirred so vigorously that she spilled more tea on the carpet.

Rumplestiltskin looked bewildered for a moment and then replied, "Getting a bit cheeky, aren't we?"

"Something smells delicious," the prince interrupted with an eager smile. "I'm famished." His stomach rumbled loudly to emphasize his point.

"There's nothing to eat," Belle lied blithely. "I've earned a bit of rest cleaning this old mausoleum all day, haven't I? Perhaps Rumplestiltskin could conjure some porridge to satisfy your appetite."

Rumplestiltskin sniffed the air inquisitively and shot her a curious look. The rich aroma of roasted meat clung to the curtains and Belle blushed. She hated falsehoods, but what was to be done? Gods, were all men so clueless? She had dinner plans with her master. _Alone._

Belle hurried back to the kitchen and surveyed her wonderful meal with dismay. All that care and effort and everything was getting cold. The once juicy skin on the boar was drying out, the crisp salad greens now limp from sitting too long. At least the peach tart, her pièce de résistance, could be eaten at their leisure.

She returned to the hall where the men were still talking and pushed her settee toward the fire to read. Belle dragged the small couch until she had wedged it between Rumplestiltskin's chair and David's. If the prince wasn't going to leave on his own, she was going to make his stay as awkward as possible. Blowing out her breath in a loud gust, she shot pointed glances at the mantle clock above the fireplace. "Don't you need to be getting home, Prince David? I'm sure Princess Snow is expecting you."

"Snow knows where I am." David stretched his long legs toward the fire and crossed them at the ankles. He took a small sip of tea. "No need for concern, thank you, Belle."

Belle opened her book, plotting as she stared at the pages. There had to be a way to get rid of David, but all her meaningful glances, excuses, and even her unwelcome attitude was lost on Rumple and his visitor. She may as well shoot for the ridiculous. "Rumplestiltskin!" she said urgently, leaning forward to thwack him on the knee.

"Ow!" He howled, rubbing the injured leg. "What was that for?"

"Don't you remember what you were going to do today?"

He looked at her blankly, still massaging his kneecap.

She shook her head, as though he had committed some grave error in judgement. "How could you, the most powerful sorcerer in all the realms, have forgotten something so important?"

Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers and Prince David vanished into thin air. "Belle," he said with a labored sigh, "you haven't turned a page in twenty minutes and you're being most obnoxious. I haven't forgotten any 'important task' and we both know it. What's this all about?"

"What?" Belle echoed. She stood and spun about the room. "Where did David go?"

Rumple waved his hand. "I sent him home. He's fine. Sitting at his own fireplace, drinking his own tea. He'll not even remember the trip."

"Couldn't you have done that an hour ago?" she asked, flabbergasted. "I made…it doesn't matter now," she said, choking back tears through a smile. The hour had grown late, the dinner long since ruined, and Belle had lost her appetite for both the food and the company. "Another day. If there's nothing else you need from me, good night, Rumplestiltskin." Hanging her head, she turned away in the direction of the staircase.

"Not so fast, my dear." The sorcerer snapped his fingers once more, transporting the two of them to the kitchen. There on the countertop sat the platters of roasted boar and potatoes, the now wilted salad greens, and the peach tart. Plates and utensils were ready for the table, as was a collection of unlit candles and a box of matches.

He grinned, then picked up a chunk of meat and popped it into his mouth. "Delicious," he praised, rolling his eyes in pleasure. "Is this what you were trying to keep the little princeling from eating?"

"Yes," she admitted, worrying a bit of her skirt between thumb and forefinger. "It was meant to be a special dinner for you. I didn't want to share it—or you—with him this evening."

"You did all this?" He peered around the kitchen cautiously, as if expecting another, more worthy recipient to appear at any moment. "For…for me?" he croaked.

The wonder in his tone shattered her heart. Had no one ever done a single kindness for this man? Had no one ever wanted to spend time with such a fascinating, layered individual, simply listening to his stories and enjoying his company? "Of course," she said, spreading her hands. "Look at all you have done to make my stay here comfortable."

"Stay? You're not a guest in an enchanted palace, Belle," he said, his voice lower and more human than she had ever heard it. "This is a life sentence. You're shackled to a dreary castle with a brooding monster who's treated you no better than a slave."

Incredulous, Belle stared at him. "Are slaves given libraries with more books than they could ever read?" she asked. "When a slaves is ill, does her master sit at her bedside long into the night, murmuring words of comfort and pressing a cool washcloth against her forehead? Or perhaps slaves sleep in enormous feather beds covered in sheets spun from gold thread."

He made no reply, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a sad smile.

She stepped closer and laid her hand against his cheek. His soft skin glittered in the dim light. He was desperately unaware of his own worth. "You're important to me, Rumplestiltskin. I care about you, about our friendship. That's why I did this." She dropped her hand, not knowing how else to communicate her confusing, growing affections. "I…needed you to know."

"Belle." He cleared his throat, a gruff, stilted noise. "Next time you want to make special plans, give an old monster a bit of advanced warning, all right? I'll be there."

"You will?" Overjoyed, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Now," he said, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "Enough foolishness for one evening. I smell peach tart, and I won't share even a single bite if my maid doesn't serve my dinner this instant!"

"I'll bring everything to the dining room now," she agreed, clasping her hands in delight. They would have their celebratory dinner after all!

"There's no need." He clapped his hands and the food, plates, and candles disappeared. He swept a gallant bow, then tucked Belle's hand into the crook of his arm. "Our table for two is ready, my lady."

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End file.
